Damnable Desire
by Lixnchains
Summary: **WARNINGS: EXTREMELY DARK AND GRAPHIC, NONCONSENT, MAMING, MURDER, KIDNAPPING, ETC. Dean Winchester has become one of the most dangerous and powerful demons that hell has ever known, and when he sees something he likes, he takes it, no matter what. Haley learns this the hard way.
1. Chapter 1

Part 1:

She was pretty, the girl. She was wearing a light yellow sundress that dipped into a low v-neck, and her hair was the color of raw honey, falling down her back in loose curls. She was shivering as she stood in the empty parking lot, and her lips were pursed into a frown, _"or more like a pout," _thought Dean with a little smile.

She was definitely a tourist. Dean could tell by the way she had pulled a town information pamphlet from her oversized purse to examine it. She had flipped it this way and that, most likely trying to make sense of a map, but she must have decided that she was too far from her destination to walk in her three-inch stilettos, because she had tucked it back into her bag after only a few moments with a little huff of dissatisfaction.

He had been watching her from the shadows for about twenty minutes now, fascinated by her almost otherworldly beauty as he imagined his fingers wrapping around her slender neck...her eyes as they widened in confusion and terror...her soft skin as he catalogued every inch, claiming it, marking her before he cut her open.

He could just slit her throat and be done with it, but where would be the fun in that?

Clearing his throat pointedly, he stepped out into the shrinking light. The girl spun to face him, her mouth opening into a little "o" of surprise.

"Excuse me, miss," he said, taking a few steps closer. "I didn't mean to scare you. I couldn't help but notice you standing there. I wanted to make sure that you were alright. It's getting late, and this isn't exactly the safest place to be alone after dark."

It was perfectly safe. There was almost no violent crime in this area of town...well, at least there _hadn't _been until Dean had arrived a few days prior.

She squinted her eyes in confusion.

"I...you...I didn't see you come in from the street," she said, glancing around a bit nervously. "Where were you? Have you been...watching me?"

By the time she had finished her last sentence, her voice had risen almost an octave, and her entire body had already snapped into defense-mode.

_Almost _(but not quite) thrown off track by how quickly she had arrived at the conclusion that he was up to no good, Dean gestured vaguely toward the woods to his left, giving her his most charming smile.

"I walk through this area every night around 8," he said coolly, twisting his expression into mock concern. "My cabin is just through the trees, there. Three minutes away."

He paused for a moment before pretending to have been struck with an idea.

"Hey," he continued, keeping his voice calm and friendly. "I've got a truck at my place. If you want to walk back with me, I wouldn't mind giving you a lift home. You seem like you're not from the area, and I wouldn't want you getting lost out here so far from town."

The girl immediately shook her head, taking an uncomfortable step back that turned into a stumble as one of her heels caught on a loose piece of gravel.

"I'm fine," she said coldly, reaching down to grab her purse by the handle. "And even I wasn't, I'm not stupid enough to walk into the woods with a total stranger."

She tried to look intimidating as she extracted her cell from her bag, holding it poised like some kind of weapon. "I actually just got off the phone with my friend," she added, glancing toward the street as if deciding whether or not to bolt. "She's only a minute away."

_Jesus. This girl had some serious trust issues._

Dean always enjoyed a challenge, but he was admittedly a little put off by the fact that she had so quickly pegged him as possible creepy pervert/potential killer. She hadn't even done a double-take when she had seen him. Well, not the kind of double-take he was used to anyway. He knew very well by now that he could easily capture almost any woman's attention (single, married, hell...even gay), and it wasn't that he was vain, but...okay, he was vain.

However, he also had a fail-safe...a damn good fail-safe.

Of course he knew that she hadn't been on the phone with her friend, but he shrugged casually with another bright smile, cocking his head a bit as he watched her.

"Alright," he murmured. "No need to take offense. I was just trying to help. My name's Brian. Brian Johnson. I run the Thunderstruck Diner downtown. You should stop in sometime and try our pancakes. They're unrivaled around here. You have a good night, ma'am."

He held out his hand.

The girl looked a little abashed, obviously feeling badly for assuming the worst about him.

"I'm...sorry for being rude," she said hastily, putting her phone away. "You can never be too safe, though, you know? I'm sure you understand."

With an apologetic little smile, she reached out to meet the handshake.

As soon as her fingertips brushed his, however, Dean gripped her hand like a vice, his eyes going jet black and his mouth curling into a satisfied smirk.

_"Not as smart as you thought you were, hmm?" _he thought, using his hold on her to pull her close.

For a split second, she seemed stunned into stillness, and then she tried to yank back in fright. It was no use, though. Dean's strength was unmatched, and as the girl realized that, she kicked out with her right leg, her foot connecting with his groin painfully.

Spitting out curses, Dean struggled against the urge to just kill the bitch and move the fuck on.

_"No," _he thought stubbornly, reeling himself in. Killing wasn't enough for him lately. He had to consume. He had to..._own. _

Refocusing, he allowed that strange _energy _ to swell within him like a great wave, rushing through his stomach, his chest, his legs, his arms, his hands...bubbling up and out like lava as it pushed its way right into the struggling girl in front of him.

He pulsed the energy into her over and over again, reveling in the high he felt under its power, and after only a few moments, the girl's face went slack, her eyes glazing over and her body relaxing before his eyes.

This whole "touched by a demon" seduction thing was still a big mystery, not only to Dean, but to Crowley, too, and to every other hell-creature that Dean had met for that matter. It seemed to be unique to him, and damned if he was complaining. He usually didn't need to use it to get a woman to "open up," but...every once in a while, it sure came in handy.

"Now," he purred victoriously, leaning in close enough so that his lips brushed against the top of ear. "Isn't that better, sweetheart?"

The girl shivered at his voice, her chest rising and falling heavily.

"Yes," she said slowly, leaning into the touch of his mouth. "Yes. Better, now..."

"What's your name?" Dean asked, snaking out his tongue to lick a stripe down the side of her face.

"It's...it's Haley," she managed, moaning a little, and Dean smiled against her skin.

"Haley," he murmured, massaging her fingers a little with his own. "I'm Dean Winchester."

She looked at him, confused.

"But, you said..." She trailed off, and Dean chuckled, the sound low and deep in his throat.

"Brian Johnson, bless him, was the lead singer of AC/DC, Haley. Fun fact. He actually was on the highway to hell."

Haley didn't respond, crinkling her brow a little. It seemed that every part of the reference had gone completely over her head, and Dean sighed, tsking at her.

"Forget it," he said, sending another burst of power through his arm into hers.

She threw her head back with a loud groan, and Dean used his free hand to snap his fingers, the sharp noise jarring as it cut through the air.

"Stay with me, Haley," he hissed. "Look at me. Come on."

She stubbornly writhed a little, soft mewling noises escaping her lips, but she obeyed almost immediately, forcing herself to straighten her posture and staring at his face with wide eyes.

_So pure. So...corruptable._

"Alright, Haley," Dean continued, emphasizing the syllables of her name. "When I let go of your hand, you won't remember anything about the last few minutes."

He paused for a moment before continuing.

"You will, however, find that you suddenly trust me. You will believe that it is not my intention to harm you in any way. Do you understand?"

Her eyelids fluttered prettily, and she nodded her head, her breath heavy with desire.

"No, Haley," Dean said sternly, tightening his grip until her face distorted with pain. "Say the words. Say, 'Yes, I understand, Dean. I trust you, now. You're not going to hurt me.'"

"Y-yes, I understand, Dean," she stuttered, rigid from the bruising ache in her hand. "I trust you, now. You're not going to hurt me."

"That's my girl," he purred, his eyes briefly darkening again, and he let go, stepping back.

He could have said, "and you're going to let me fuck you, no questions asked, right here, right on the dirty pavement like a good little slut."

But...again...

Where would be the fun in that?


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sorry, what? What did you say?"

Haley looked at Dean in confusion, wavering a bit on her feet.

"Just goodnight," Dean responded with a little smile. "And I told you that I'd love to have you stop by my diner sometime. It's just downtown. It's called the-

"No, I heard that," Haley interrupted, pressing her palm to her forehead wearily and then jerking it away with a surprised gasp.

Dean arranged his features into an expression of worry, stepping close again.

"Hey, you alright?" he asked, cocking his head. "You seem a little...disoriented."

_God, this was fun._

"I'm...I don't know," she said, grimacing as she flexed her fingers. "It's my hand. I think I must have hurt it, somehow. I don't remember hurting it, but I-"

She trailed off, swaying dangerously, and Dean gripped her shoulder, steadying her.

"Woah, there," he said, his voice low and quiet. "I've got you. You're okay."

She exhaled shakily, looking a little uncomfortable with the fact that Dean was touching her but not trying to pull away.

"Thanks...Brian, was it?" she said, smoothing her dress a little and glancing nervously around the parking lot. "I must have been out in the sun too much today. I...I'll be fine, though. Really. You don't have to worry."

Dean let go of her shoulder but didn't step back, trying hard not to let any amusement show on his face.

"Your friend, though," he said, as she bent to pick up her bag. "The one you said was a minute away? Maybe you'd better call her again. I don't feel right leaving you out here like this. I'd be up all night worrying."

He paused for a moment, reaching up to rub his chin.

"And, uh, if you really _don't _have someone on the way, at least let me give you the number for the local taxi service, no hard feelings. Although, I'd hate to have you pay for a ride when I've got a truck just around the corner."

Caught in her bluff, Haley stumbled a little, pitching forward and dropping her bag again.

"Shit," she swore under her breath, straightening up and widening her stance. "I can't seem to...I just feel...I'm behind on sleep. It's been a long couple of days."

She took a deep breath, avoiding his gaze.

"Look," she continued, this time with a half-smile, "I appreciate your help, Brian. You're a good guy. I think...will you give me that number? Let me just get my phone."

"Hey, let me," Dean said, stooping down to grab the silver cell that was tucked into her purse. "I don't think that you should be bending over right now."

_You'll be doing plenty of that later..._

As his fingers closed around the phone, he sent a small shock of power into it, enough to ensure that it was never turning on again.

"Here," he said, handing it her. "Tell me when you're ready for the number."

Sliding it open, Haley gaped at the dark screen.

"Wait, what?" she cried, pressing and holding the power button to no avail. "What? I had full battery! What the hell? God, can this night get any worse?" Glancing up at Dean, she hastily muttered, "No offense."

"None taken," Dean said, holding his hands up.

For several long moments, Haley continued to play with the phone, sighing dramatically, and Dean cleared his throat.

"I don't mean to rush you," he said with a smile, "but if you still want that ride...I'm usually a down and up with the sun kind of guy, you know, early mornings at the diner and all. I know I'm your last choice, but I'm pretty sure I'm also the _only _choice at this point."

She looked up at him, shifting her weight uncomfortably.

"I hope you don't take that personally, Brian," she said, looking down at the ground. "I don't spend much time in small towns like this. I'm used to the big city mentality, and being cautious around strangers has kind of been drilled into me. I'm sorry for acting so rudely. I just assumed...anyway, I really do think you're a trustworthy guy who's just trying to help. I really do."

"Jeez, you could have fooled me," Dean joked, chuckling. "And no, of course I don't take it personally, but I do kind of need to know if we're doing this or if I'm going to be sleeping with you right here on the pavement tonight."

_Wait a minute, was that a blush? That was definitely a blush._

"Yeah," she said with a genuine smile. "I suppose that'd be alright. You driving me, not you sleeping with-you sleeping here...with me."

_So pretty with red cheeks._

Dean laughed, turning around.

"Got it," he said, gesturing for her to follow. "Come on. Let's go."

Now, there actually _was _a cabin in the woods only a few minutes away, and Dean had, in fact, been staying there. The previous resident, an old man called Ed, was a pile of meat out back, but the guy wasn't exactly sociable in life, so Dean figured he had another couple of days at least before someone came to check on the poor bastard.

There was even an old truck parked outfront. The thing probably hadn't worked for fifteen years (Ed liked to walk), but Haley wouldn't know the difference (he hoped).

As they approached the old piece-of-crap-shack, Haley cleared her throat and attempted a smile.

"Wow, Brian. This is...nice. It's got the whole back-to-nature feel."

Her eyes landed on the pile of trash thrown carelessly next to the door, and she crinkled her nose.

"Just...nice," she repeated.

Dean grinned, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well, it ain't the Ritz, but it's home," he said, meandering up to the truck and wrenching the door open. Eyeing the layers of rust, he breathed a little sigh of relief that the damn thing hadn't fallen right off it's hinges.

Haley had followed him over and was now working on the passenger-side door, tugging and pulling until it flung open with a loud creak.

"Um, no offense, but are you sure that this is fit for the road?" She asked, crawling into her seat doubtfully.

"She's old, but she's trusty," Dean lied, grabbing the key off the dash and forcing it into the ignition. He gave it a twist, and, unsurprisingly, nothing happened.

"That's odd," he said with a frown. "I've never had trouble with her before."

Haley cocked an eyebrow at that but remained silent.

Dean tried again. And again. And then one more time, before slumping forward against the wheel with a huge sigh.

"This is great," he groaned, clutching at his hair, "just great. Dave's sick with the flu, and Johnny's off tomorrow. It's kids eat free day. The place will be packed by 7. It'll take me an hour to walk to town, and we're expecting a fucking torrential downpour all morning. Excuse my language. DAMN IT."

He continued to moan into his hands, and Haley reached out to pat his shoulder.

"Can't you just...call for a ride?" she asked, and Dean shook his head.

"No phone," he said, giving the key another haphazard little jiggle. "I'm not a big fan of electronics."

"Well, that's just not safe," Haley scolded, miraculously not yet freaking out about the fact she was, for all intents and purposes, stranded here for the night. "What if you fell down and hurt yourself? What if you came down with some horrible illness? Don't you ever get sick? How do you let your employers know? You don't have family or friends who might want to reach you?"

_"Enough with the damn third degree," _Dean thought, but he had to hold back an amused laugh. He kind of like this girl. She was feisty...

"I don't get sick...I guess..." he tried, turning to face her. "And I talk to everybody that I need to talk to in town."

It was a weak response, but he didn't care. It was none of her business.

"You don't seem very upset," he said before she could respond. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, but based on what little I know about you, it seems out of character."

Haley seemed to think this through for a moment before responding.

"Well, it's not ideal," she said, pressing a wrinkle out of her dress, "but, I think at this point I can rule out you being some kind of a criminal mastermind. I mean, you couldn't have planned all of this. Me not feeling well, my phone dying, your car not starting, well...you could have planned _that _I guess, but you see my point. With everything that keeps going wrong, I suppose the only thing to do at this point is make the best of it. I'm tired of freaking out. No one's expecting me, and I'm sure you have an extra pair of shoes I could borrow for the walk tomorrow."

Dean shivered a little with anticipation.

_No one's expecting you, hmm?_

"Wow," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Well, I'm surprised. Good surprised. It would be a really long night if you bolted into the woods and forced me to run around searching for you in the dark only to have to drag you back here kicking and screaming...you know, for criminal mastermind reasons."

He chuckled darkly.

"Hey, mister," she said, giving him a playful shove. "I could always change my mind."

For a moment, they sat in a kind of awkward silence as if unsure of how to proceed, and then, with absolutely no warning, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his.

Almost nothing shocked Dean at this point in his life, but he found himself unable to respond to the kiss that came out of left field.

_What? WHAT? _

His power over her wasn't responsible for this. The game had rules, afterall, and he had been painstakingly careful not to send out any extra bursts. He'd done this a hundred times. He knew how to control himself.

Without much reciprocation, Haley pulled away, her cheeks flushed scarlet as she stared down at her lap in embarrasment.

"God, I am so sorry," she whispered, chancing a sideways glance at him. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm...can you forgive me for acting so inappropriatly? I never do things like that. It's just been such a stressful night. I'm so sorry..."

She trailed off, wringing her hands together nervously, and Dean shook himself, his brain playing catch-up as he realized that they had just jumped from step D all the way to the end of the alphabet.

"No, no," he said quickly, grabbing her hand from her lap. "You just caught me off guard, that's all. You don't have to apologize, really. I was just...surprised."

She looked up, her eyes hopeful, and Dean found himself feeling something akin to regret. It was really was too bad that he had to kill the girl. She was just so _intruiging._ For the first time, he found himself thinking that ignoring his blood lust for the night might be worth it if he could keep her around a while longer. But, of course, he couldn't. He was leaving this godforsaken town any day, and the whole thing was just illogical. He certainly couldn't let her go, either. She knew far too much about him. That little case of amnesia she had wasn't going to last forever. In less than 24 hours, she'd remember those lost five minutes, and Crowley had explicitely told him that there could be no loose ends when it came to his special "gift." Ever.

Killing her would still be fun, of course. He wasn't a damn _human _anymore, but it would be too bad. It would just be too bad.

"Let's go inside," he suggested with a smile, shoving open his door. "This truck smells like a skunk."

"Yeah, good idea," she agreed with a weak nod, still obviously feeling abashed by what she had done as she crawled out of the car.

Dean wondered briefly what she was thinking. Was she hoping that he would fuck her once they were inside? Was she planning to try to kiss him again or would she wait for him to kiss her? Did she want it quick and dirty and impersonal or was she hoping that they would make love by the fireplace, nice and slow, and then cuddle up against each other while they talked about life? She was a damn loose cannon. It was impossible to know for sure.

It also didn't matter.

He had already won.

The game was about getting her to make the first move. He knew it would have happened at some point during the night, he just hadn't expected miss ice-queen to thaw out so quickly. But, life is about rolling with the punches, and Dean grinned wickedly, stalking forward.

_"It's my turn now, sweetheart," _he thought with a little stab of arousal, and as they rounded the front of the truck, he suddenly grabbed her violently by the shoulders, spinning her around and pushing her stomach and chest down against the rusty hood.

She squeaked in surprise, instinctively trying to get the leverage she needed to push herself back up, but it was a hopeless struggle. Dean's weight on her back was an unmovable force, and when he dipped his head down to bite into the nape of her neck, she cried out in pain, writhing beneath him.

"Brian, what are you doing?" She managed, her voice high-pitched and laced with fear. "Stop it. I wasn't asking you for this. I was just-I was just...I don't know, just please, Brian, let me up."

Dean chuckled against her skin, his hands sweeping up and down her sides.

"Oh, Haley," he whispered, his mouth directly against her ear. "We both know that you want me, now, and honestly, are the details really _that _important?"

Her entire body stiffened, and Dean could hear her breath turn shallow and strained against the metal of the truck.

"I never told you my name," she said in a rush, trying again to free herself from his grasp, and Dean laughed, easing up just enough to snake his hands under her chest.

"Oh, but you did," he murmured, slipping his fingers down the front of her dress with surprising ease. The material was stretchy, and he moaned a little as he found her nipples, drawing circles around them with his thumbs.

"I don't know...what you mean," Haley whimpered, each word a little gasp, "But please, Brian. Just let me go. We can talk about this. We can-"

Her words were cut off with a cry as Dean pinched the hard nubs, twisting them and pulling them as Haley helplessly tried to shrink away from his touch.

"Shut up, baby," he said, licking the side of her neck. "Just try to relax. I'm gonna make you feel so good."

To emphasize the declaration, he pressed into her from behind, his cock achingly-hard under the denim of his jeans, and she shivered violently, a broken noise springing up from her throat.

"Think, Haley," Dean continued, rocking against her again. "Do you trust me? Would I harm you in any way?"

He knew that those words would be a trigger for her, and, sure enough, he felt her calm ever-so-slightly beneath him, her arms going still and her breath steadying.

"That's a good girl," Dean purred, taking the opportunity to grab the hem of her dress and yank it unceremoniously up to her middle back, leaving her completely exposed in just a small, lacy pair of panties.

Before she could object, Dean was on her again, hands sliding up her back to wrap around her throat, not choking her, just...holding.

She shivered again, but she had stopped pleading with him, her face turned to the side and her eyes squeezed tightly shut. _She trusted him, but she was still scared, still confused._

Dean had begun to nip at the area between her shoulders and the top of her dress, pulling the skin between his teeth and twisting it before soothing each spot with a lick of his tongue. The angry red welts and bruises peppering her pale back went straight to his cock, making him twitch hungrily, and he let go of her neck, splaying one hand possessively against her while he used the other to flick open his pants, shimmying out of them and kicking them into the grass. He had removed his shoes as he was climbing out of the car a few minutes prior, knowing that he wouldn't want to completely let go of her, even for a second, once he had her where he wanted her.

Now, naked from the waist down, he moved in close again, this time letting his hand slip between her legs, fingering the lacy fabric before moving it to the side.

"Soaking wet, already, Haley?" he murmured in satisfaction, brushing his fingers against the heat of her sex. "Aren't you an eager, little slut?"

He had expected those words to get a rise out of her. After all, he clearly wasn't sweet, small-town Brian anymore, but instead, she helplessly pressed into his touch, rocking her hips slightly and moaning against the truck.

Dean hissed, removing his hand to palm his own cock as a rush of almost-painful desire ripped through him.

"Already so pliant," he said, using his foot to kick at the sides of her legs. "Spread wider."

But, apparently, she wasn't so far gone that she was ready to blindly open herself up to his fingers, to his cock, and when she resisted, Dean growled, giving her ass a hard slap.

"Haley," he said sternly, wedging his knee between her thighs and forcing them apart, "I don't like to be ignored. I don't like it at all." She remained silent, which didn't bother him too much.

She'd be speaking soon enough.

Without warning he reached down and shoved two fingers into her, causing her to jerk violently and cry out.

_God, so tight..._

"You like that, don't you, Haley?" he purred, thrusting in and out a few times before adding a third finger, scizzoring and twisting while she squirmed prettily.

She was shaking, now, a steady stream of whimpers and moans escaping her lips, and Dean threw his head back impatiently, knowing that he wasn't going to be in the mood to draw things out, tonight.

He needed a quick fix. Followed by another, and another, and possibly even another before he snuffed the girl out. Why waste such a fine thing?

He pulled his fingers out as suddenly as he had pushed them in and bent so that his head hovered over hers.

"Do you want me to fuck you, now?" He asked wickedly, wiping his wet fingers against the bruised area of her back.

She shuddered, her fists clenching and unclenching in the air as if she needed something to hold onto.

"Come on, Haley," Dean pressed, wrapping a hand around her throat and giving it a warning squeeze. "I asked you a question, and you WILL answer me. Do want my cock in that tight little hole of yours? Do you want me to make you scream?"

_He jerked his hips forward roughly, and she bit down on her lower lip, drawing blood._

"None of that, Haley," Dean scolded, using his thumb to wipe away the red drops. "Answer the fucking question."

He noticed that her cheeks were wet, not with sweat but with tears, and he bent closer to lick her skin, swirling the salty taste around in his mouth.

"Baby," he murmured, his voice sickly-sweet, "you don't want me to have to ask a third time."

Her expression curled into something unreadable, and she nodded, pressing back into his cock.

"Fuck," she sobbed, digging her nails into the metal. "Yes. Yes, I want you to fuck me. PLEASE. Just do it. Just fucking-"

She choked on her words as Dean thrust into her, bottoming out with a low growl of pleasure. Her muscles seized around him as he drew back, thrusting back in forcefully enough to heave her entire body higher onto the hood.

"Fuck, Haley," he hissed, gripping her hips so tightly that he knew she would have hand-shaped bruises on them for days.

_"Not days," _he reminded himself. _"Just tonight. That's all you get."_

He sped up the thrusts, no finesse, all raw lust, and she moaned loudly, desperately trying to match his movements.

He pressed a hand down on her back.

"Just let me, baby," he purred, throwing his head back wildly as he penatrated her again and again, climbing steadily toward orgasm.

He didn't care whether or not she actually got off, but when she spluttered out, "Brian, I'm going to...I'm going to..." his cock twitched inside her, and his fingers found her throat again.

"Don't call me that," he groaned, a little surprised by himself for saying it. "It's Dean, and you say my name when you cum."

She whimpered, too far gone to question him, and he tightened his grip on her throat, pounding into her furiously for several more moments before he felt her body tense beneath him.

"I, fuck, I...DEAN," she screamed, convulsing on his cock, and her hands slammed into the metal hood as she came, writhing like a snake and spitting out his name over and over again.

It was fucking obscene, and Dean's orgasm hit him like a freight train, dragging a strangled yell from his throat as he spilled into her.

The waves of pleasure seemed to keep coming for ages, and when he finally collapsed on her back, he was panting and drenched in sweat.

Before he could so much as take a deep breath, however, he heard the sound of applause from behind him.

Jerking to a standing position, he spun around, peering into the blackness.

"Bravo," came a smug voice from the shadows. "Really, that was a winning preformace, Dean. I'm all tingly."

Crowley.

"What are you doing here?" Dean blurted out, backing up so that his body blocked Haley from view. "I'm a little busy, which you seem to have noticed. Can't this wait?"

_He had a very bad feeling about this._

"I'm afraid not," Crowley said, closing the distance between them. "You and I need to make a very important call, and...oh, look! Here's our phone, blood still on her insides and all. I guess I got here just in the nick of time. Saves us a bit of trouble, now doesn't it?"

He was smirking as he peered around Dean, leering at Haley, and Dean felt his stomach clench.

"I'm not done with her yet," he argued, glaring at Crowley. "Go get someone else. I'll meet up with you."

Crowley raised an eyebrow, and Dean did a mental doubletake at his own words. _What? _

"Oh, you're done with her," Crowley said, an edge to his voice. "Move. I don't have all night. Places to go, souls to corrupt, you know the deal."

_What was he doing? Why wasn't he moving?_

"Don't be dramatic, Dean," Crowley sighed, grabbing Dean's shoulder and shoving him to the side. "It's a big ocean out there. Plenty of fish in the sea."

Crowley was reaching for his knife, and Haley, who had scrambled to her feet, cried out in fear.

"Don't worry, love," Crowley said, his lips curling into a grin. "Just a quick pinch."

"NO," Dean yelled, throwing his weight at Crowley, who hit the ground with a sickening thud. "You stay away from her. You don't touch her. You understand me?"

He was shaking as he watched Crowley, who seemed, for the moment, speechless.

"You don't...you don't touch her. She's mine."


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three:

"You useless, moronic piece of shit!" Dean yelled, advancing on the trembling demon who cowered by the sink. "I give you one job. ONE FUCKING JOB, and you screw it up."

He was shaking with anger, and the woman in front of him gripped the counter, her knuckles white.

"She told me that you let her walk around the room so that...so that she doesn't get sores. I've seen you let her. I-I just figured that with her tattoo, with all of the charms, that it'd be okay."

Dean closed the distance between them in one stride, pulling the blade from his coat pocket and raising it to her neck with a snarl.

"When I'M here, only," he growled, increasing the pressure of the blade against her skin. "She played you, Elaine. How could you be so stupid?"

Elaine whimpered, her eyes black and wide with fear.

"Please, p-please don't," she stuttered, her body stiff against the wall. "She said you'd be angry with me if her body was damaged when you returned. It's been two days. You've never been gone for this long before. I didn't know. Please have mercy."

Dean narrowed his eyes, using his free hand to brush a strand of Elaine's hair from her cheek.

"And now?" he hissed, his face a mere inch from hers. "She could have killed herself trying to burn _them off, Elaine. You let her use the fucking stove. THE FUCKING STOVE."_

He paused, sighing loudly, his hand still resting on the side of her head.

"You've been a good servent to me these past months. You have," he continued, his voice a notch softer. "Your loyalty hasn't gone unnoticed. And Haley's burns are mostly superficial. They'll heal quickly with the proper care."

He dragged the tip of the blade up and down her pale throat, watching her twitch and shiver at the sensation.

"Because of this, I'm going to spare you the fate that would be anyone elses, had they made such an unforgivable mistake."

Elaine slumped her shoulders down the wall with a little huff at these words, her face filled with gratitude.

"Thank you, Master," she sighed, clutching the hem of his shirt. "Thank you. I will never fail you again. I am yours for eternity, always indebted to you."

As she trailed off, Dean suddenly laughed cruelly, shaking his head and winding his fingers through her ebony hair.

"You really are stupid, aren't you, Elaine?" he murmured, his voice dripping with cold amusement. "Did you really think that I was going to let you live?"

Elaine choked on her breath violently, a sob escaping her throat.

"I don't understand," she whispered, the words barely audible. "You said..."

"Let me explain," Dean responded, using his grip in her hair to yank her head to the side. "I'll talk slowly so that you can keep up. You're going to die at my hand, girl. That much should have been obvious. I _had _planned on tying you up out back and torturing you for a few weeks until you begged me to finish the job, but...because of your service to me, I've decided to be generous."

He felt a rush of intoxicating arousal in his gut as she began to tremble in earnest, words completely failing her as her mouth opened and closed like a fish on a hook.

_Fear. My god, was there anything sweeter?_

"I'm going to make this quick, Elaine," he continued, his voice now calm and steady. "My face, right here, right now, is going to be the last thing you ever see."

She found her voice again suddenly, crying out in a last desperate plea.

"I'll do anything!" she choked out, reaching for him blindly. "Anything! Please, please just give me one more ch-"

The words died on her lips as Dean plunged the blade into her neck, twisting it through muscle and bone.

Elaine's face was frozen into an expression of horror, blood spilling from her mouth as she made a final sputtering noise in the back of her throat before sagging to the ground at Dean's feet in a crumpled pile.

Wrinkling his nose, Dean kicked her away, staring down at his ruined shoes.

"I really liked those," he muttered, now turning away to look into the far corner of the room, where Haley lay strapped to a bed, gagged and shaking, her eyes pressed tightly shut and her cheeks wet with tears.

Elaine and she had been close (or so it had seemed), as close as a demon and a human _could _be, at least.

"You did this, Haley," he said, walking up to side of the mattress.

She didn't open her eyes.

"I thought these little stunts were over. You've been behaving so well."

He reached down to stroke her cheek, leaving behind a streak of blood, and she struggled to turn her head away from the sensation, a muffled groan leaking through the fabric in her mouth.

"Haley, haley," Dean continued, grabbing the side of her face and yanking it back around. "When will you learn, baby? You're mine, now. There's no getting out of it. That tattoo on your chest? The one you thought you could just burn away? It's not going anywhere."

He let his other hand slip down to the now-bandaged ink, feeling the pulse of its power as it responded to his touch.

_Mmm...mine. All mine..._

"You're off the hook, tonight," he murmured, massaging the hurt area and gazing down at her soft, pliant body, naked beneath the thin sheet pulled up to her waist. "Those painkillers I gave you should start to kick in any minute, and I don't want you drugged up when I show you what happens when you disappoint me like this..."

He trailed off, smiling as he watched her.

This little bump in the road would soon be forgotten. After he punished her severely enough to make his point, he would fuck her until she screamed his name, begged him to let her cum, swore herself to him, as was the way it went between the two of them.

"Go to sleep now," he whispered, bending to remove her gag.

He knew that she wouldn't say anything.

"Go to sleep," he repeated, rubbing another blood-stained finger across her lips.

"Tomorrow morning won't be pleasant for you. I'm going to make sure that you have a...deep...understanding of exactly who you belong to."

Her whimper was barely audible as he walked away, and his insides fluttered at the sound, making his cock twitch under his pants.

_"Tomorrow," _he reminded himself sternly, palming himself with a little groan. _"Tomorrow."_


	4. Chapter 4

Dean woke to the sound of loud knocking, and he dragged himself from bed muttering curses under his breath. He had been having a very interesting dream...

Deciding that he would analyze its meaning later, he pushed it from his mind, stretching luxuriously before prowling toward the front door.

"Yeah?" he grumbled, his voice still raw from sleep. "Who is it?"

"It's Carl," came a deep voice. "I'm sorry if I woke you, Sir. I was told to meet you here at seven."

Pulling open the door, Dean stared at his guest expectantly, leaning against the wooden frame.

"Well?" he growled after a moment of silence. "Did you bring me what I need? I don't have all day."

"Of course, Sir," Carl said, bowing his head apollagetically. "The girl is tied up out back like you asked, and your other package is by the fire pit."

"And the blacksmith?" Dean asked, tapping his fingers against the mahogany.

"Dead," replied Carl, keeping his eyes averted. "His wife and children, too. We weren't sure what they might have heard."

The man paused for a moment before continuing.

"Sir, he said that 'Dean Winchester' was too many letters, impossible for him to put together overnight and likely not practical, because seven would have to made, two letters on each. I told him that a 'D' and a 'W' would suffice, just your initials. Please forgive me. We were running out of time."

The stream of words had flooded from Carl's mouth in a rush, as if he thought that speaking them quickly might lessen Dean's anger, but Dean just sighed, waving his hand dismissively.

"Well, he's the expert..._was _the expert," he said with a shrug, and when Carl's mouth opened a little in surprise, he added, "I'm not completely insane you know, Carl, despite what you might have heard. I'm not to kill you because of _my _lack of knowledge when it comes to metal work."

Carl looked doubtful as he bowed his head again.

"I haven't heard anything like that," he said, trembling a little. "You are thought of most kindly, m-most admirably, Sir. Not to say that you aren't feared as you should be! You're feared by all, but fair, very-"

"Shut the fuck up, Carl," Dean interupted, pressing a hand to his forhead in exasperation. "Just go. I'm done with you."

"Yes, Sir," Carl mumbled hastily, stepping back. "I'll just...I'll be-"

Dean didn't bother to listen to the rest. He was already out the door and heading around the side of the house with a little spring in his step.

Truth be told, if he had been in a bad mood, he probably _would_ have killed Carl, but his mind was elsewhere, and he just couldn't be bothered.

It was going to be a fun day.

The girl was in her early twenties. She was kind of pretty in an almost alien-esque kind of way, but Dean didn't really care one way or another. He wasn't going to fuck her first or even torture her a little. He was in a hurry, which meant that today was her lucky day.

He didn't even remove her gag before he slit her throat, collecting the stream of blood in a clay bowl that he had grabbed from the ground. Usually, he liked to hear them scream and beg, and he liked Haley to hear them scream and beg, but if he did that, he'd be sorely tempted to drag the whole thing out while he messed with her head for a while, and there were other more important things to do.

"It's Dean," he spoke into the bowl, and the blood began to ripple and churn. "I'm not coming in for a few days," he said. "I have some...pressing matters to attend to. You can-"

He paused, listening to the response.

"First of all," he continued after a few moments. "Do NOT interrupt me. NEVER interrupt me, and second of all, that doesn't sound like anything that can't be handled by a few of the big guys."

Another minute of listening.

"Yes, that's fine. How is Sam this morning? Have you heard anything from Eric? I told him to report in three times a day."

Pause.

"Good, well I want you to check on them anyway, just to be safe. Make sure that he's comfortable, and tell him that I'll be by to see him in three days, four at the most. Okay? Understood?"

After confirmation came from the other end, he dropped the bowl unceremoniously onto the ground, whistling as he walked around toward the fire pit to set up for the morning events.

Soon, it would be time to wake Haley.

"What are you going to do to me?" Haley asked in a weak voice, her muscles clenching against the bindings holding her still.

Dean had strapped her face-down and blindfolded to a kind of wooden stretcher by the fire pit, her arms and legs pulled wide by the chains that reached from the cuffs around her wrists and ankles (which were snapped tightly enough to cut viciously into her skin) to four metal stakes in the ground.

Dean didn't answer her.

"I bet your chest is hurting you this morning with no painkillers to take the edge off," he said instead, circling her predatorily.

"I...I'm sorry," she whimpered, pressing her arms down into the ground as if trying to relieve some of the pressure from the bindings. "I know that I messed up. I know that it was wrong. Dean, I'm not going to try anything, again, okay? Please just don't..."

She trailed off, not knowing what to beg him _not_ to do, and Dean smirked, reaching down to run his fingers across her naked back.

The black lines of her tattoo began to slither like snakes over her shoulder in response to his touch, and he slid his hand up to meet them, tracing the ink with his thumbs.

She squirmed wildly at the sensation, unable to prevent the moan that was dragged from her throat, and Dean shivered with lust, his cock hardening immediately.

He could force her to cum from just this in seconds if he wanted to.

The tattoo only covered the left side of her chest in its dormant state, but it was hooked into every part of her like barbed wire, body and mind, and it answered to Dean. To Dean, only.

There would be time for that later, though.

Right now, his stubborn little pet needed to learn a hard lesson, and he withdrew his hand, stepping back to check the two metal rods that rested on a flat rock with their tips in the center of the roaring fire.

Bright, glowing red.

They were ready.

He knew that Haley must be wondering about it, the fire. It was at least 80 degrees outside already with the sun still fairly low in the east, but she was either too focused on the pain from the cuffs or she was too afraid to ask for specifics, because she remained silent even as the flames near her stretcher began to cause little rivulets of sweat to roll down her skin.

God, Dean loved to see her like this, so helpless, so filled with terror, so...his.

He felt that rush of power and desire pool deep down in his abdomin as he watched her. She wasn't even trying to protest anymore. She knew that something bad was coming and that there was nothing she could say to stop it.

She just didn't know how bad it was going to be...

"Haley," he murmured as he grabbed the end of the first branding iron, poised and ready to strike. "You seem to be under the impression that you can do whatever you want to yourself if given half a chance."

She was making stuttered sounds again, not words, just quiet whimpers as she shook her head against the wood.

"Oh, but you do," Dean continued, twirling the rod between his fingers. "And I think I need to remind you that you belong to ME, now. ALL of you belongs to me, and only I get to decide what happens or what doesn't happen to that pretty little body of yours."

She had frozen now, fear radiating from every muscle, and Dean shuddered, his eyes going pitch black.

"So you thought you would burn MY property," he spat. "Well, you're about to find out that when I reclaim that little act of rebellion, it's going to feel a whole lot worse than some red skin from half a second too long on a dull burner, darling."

After a moment's pause, she sobbed violently, realizing what he was planning, and she began to pull instinctively at her chains with such force that Dean could see blood begin to trickle out from under the metal.

Suddenly irrationally-furious that she was, yet again, hurting herself without his consent, he yanked the large "D" from the flames with a deep growl and slammed it into her upper back.

The sickening _hissss _it made on contact sent a shock of satisfaction through his chest, and Haley's scream was blood-curtling, broken, barely even human.

After a few long seconds, he removed the iron, but he knew that her skin was still burning, that she was still in more pain than she had probably ever imagined possible.

"How does it feel, Haley?" he asked, staring in awe at the salad-plate sized "D" seared into her skin. "You won't even notice the other one now, will you?"

He laughed, using his finger to draw a circle around his handywork. "Of course you won't."

As she continued to convulse, he smiled cruelly, dropping the "D" iron and reaching for the "W."

"You just want this to be over, don't you?" he asked in mock-sympathy, his voice elevated so that she would be able to hear him over the sound of her own sobs. "You can't think of anything else except the pain. You don't even have a past. Or a future. Or a present beyond this one sensation, do you? Just this. Just this moment."

And, with that, he lifted the second iron and pressed it into her, an inch below the "D."

He held it firmly against her for a bit longer than he probably should have, revelling in her screams and in the way her back muscles looked like living creatures beneath her skin, twisting and rolling, trying to escape. When he finally tossed it to the ground, the "W" that was seared into her was black, and the sour smell of burnt skin hovered in the air around them like fog.

She had fallen completely silent, now, although her face was still frozen in a mangled expression of pure terror. It was as if she no longer had the strength to move or to scream...or even to cry.

Maybe she was waiting for the agony of a third iron.

"Good girl," he whispered, bending down so that his mouth rested on her ear and giving the sensitive skin a little lick. "You never thought that I would do something like that, did you? I mean, I've hurt you before, but never like this."

He paused to let the words sink in.

"That's the only explanation I can come up with for how you could have decided to do something so stupid, so rash, even after I explained to you that the tattoo is permanent. You knew that I'd kill Elaine, but you thought...what?...that I'd just give you a slap on the wrist and then fuck you into submission like we both know you only pretend to hate? You thought that you were too precious to me? That I couldn't bring myself to inflict any kind of actual damage on that body that gets me so...crazy?"

He lifted her blindfold from her eyes, rubbing away some of the tear-streaks with the pads of his thumbs.

"You were wrong," he purred, leaning down to kiss her eyelids. "I WILL hurt you...in ways that you can't even fathom...if you continue to act out. Do you understand?"

She still couldn't speak, likely in shock from the severity of the burns, and he slid his fingers under her heaving chest, connecting with the tattoo.

Sending his intent into its now-vibrating ink, he stroked her skin softly for a few minutes, watching her breath steady and her muscles relax before his eyes.

He couldn't completely remove her pain, nor would he ever want to, but he could soften it a little for the time being, and he could definitely add something else...

"It all comes from me, Haley," he said, moving so that he could position himself between her spread legs. "I'm the one who will hurt you, and I'm the one who will ease that pain."

He slowly unzipped his fly, making sure that she could hear him do it.

On display for him, Dean could see the physical evidence of the tattoo's power. Even in agony, she was wet, glistening in the low light, and she was trembling again, pain and pleasure mingling together in her body to create the most beautiful sight Dean could have ever imagined.

He was even stunned into stillness for a moment before he penetrated her, hands on her shoulders and mouth moving in to bite the nape of her neck as he thrust into her, harder than even he had intended to after what she had just endured.

A series of broken little moans peppered the air, some from the pain of Dean's chest on her raw skin and some from the shocks of pleasure that the tattoo was intensifying as he filled her again and again.

He growled hungrily against her skin, biting down even harder, enough to draw blood, and he felt her clench down on his cock even as she cried out.

With each wave of pain came an even deeper wave of pleasure, and when she started trying to thrust her hips up to meet him on each downward stroke, he knew that she was close to careening over the edge.

But, at some point in the past ten minutes, he had come to a decision.

He waited until he felt her start to shake, moaning and pressing up against him with crazed desperation before pulling out and straddling her hips.

"Please, Dean, PLEASE," she protested blindly with a little sob, and he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back so that her face was lifted completely from the wood.

"I marked you like livestock," he hissed, rocking into her, his cock sliding up and down the cleft of her ass. "And here you are begging me to make you me that you belong to me. Tell me that you're mine to hurt or to fuck or to chain up or even to kill."

She started to sob again, she Dean gave her hair another sharp pull.

"Say the words Haley. Don't make me wait."

She choked in defeat, stilling beneath him.

"I...I'm yours. To...hurt or to fuck or to chain up or to...k-kill. Please, please..."

Her breath was coming in short gasps, and Dean chuckled darkly, wrapping a hand around his cock and jacking himself to the sound of her begging and to the sight of his initials perminantly seared into her flesh.

"You don't get to cum, tonight," he groaned as his own orgasm exploded through him, more intense than anything he had ever experienced, and his vision whited out for a few minutes as he rode the aftershocks, continuing to grind against her even as he started to soften.

Reaching around, he smeared his cum-slick fingers over her face, making sure to touch every inch of skin there, before sending a strong shock of power into her.

"Sleep, now," he whispered, his voice a command. "Sleep until I tell you to wake."

Her eyes fluttered shut instantly, and Dean stood up, staring down at her wrecked body.

His eyes travelled from the brands, to her bleeding wrists and ankles, to the dark purple bruises that spattered her skin, and he sighed.

He would keep her out for two days at least, time enough for the healing process to begin.

"You weren't completely wrong, you know," he suddenly said to the unconscious form at his feet, using the toe of his boot to caress the insides of her legs. "You _are _precious to me."

He watched her for another minute before stooping down to lift her limp body from the ground, tossing her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing at all.

He would need to find her another babysitter at some point, a few perhaps, but for the next several days, it would just be the two of them.

Maybe he would even have Carl get a few DVD's for them, some food that hadn't come a gas station.

Maybe.

_"Someday, I'm going to take you out into the world, again," _he thought to himself as he covered her with a blanket. _"Sam will like you."_

Sam.

Another problem-child for him to deal with.

He sighed as he climbed into bed, but he fell asleep with a smile on his face, thinking about Haley.

He was never going to allow her to cover up her back ever again.


	5. Chapter 5

"Dean, can I ask you a question?"

Dean turned from the sink where he was washing fresh blood from his hands and shrugged his shoulders.

"You can ask," he said, reaching for the roll of paper towells, "but I might not answer."

Haley was sitting up in bed, hugging her knees tightly to her chest, and she paused for a moment as if reconsidering.

"Who...who is Sam?" she finally asked in a quiet voice, fixing her gaze on him nervously.

Dean continued to wipe his hands for a few moments in silence before tossing the towell into the metal trashcan near his feet and leaning up against the counter.

"He's my brother," he answered truthfully, eyeing her across the room. "I guess you have sharper ears than I gave you credit for, hmm?"

She blushed, curling in on herself even more, and Dean chuckled.

"It's not exactly a secret, Haley," he said, walking toward her. "It's fine."

She chanced a sideways glance at him, unfolding herself a little.

"Is he...is he like you?" she almost whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek, and Dean reached up to stroke his chin in mock confusion.

"What, you mean devilishly-handsome? A serial killer? A classic rock enthusiast?"

Haley lowered her gaze again, an involuntary shiver coursing through her.

"Aaaah," Dean continued, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "You mean...is he a demon?"

It was hard to miss Haley's sharp intake of breath.

This was the first time that Dean had hit her with the big "D" word, and he had to give her credit for how hard she was trying to maintain her composure.

"So that's, s-so that's what you, w-what you..."

She trailed off, and Dean nodded as casually as if they had just been discussing the weather forecast.

_Sunny all morning with clouds rolling in after two, high in the mid-eighties, and you're being held under lock and key by a powerful demon from hell. Clear skies later tonight, but there's a cold front moving in, so bundle up!_

Haley was still gaping at him, but, remarkably, she didn't seem to be taking the news as badly as Dean had figured she would. He guessed that, at this point, she had seen more than enough to know that Dean wasn't exactly just your average human psychopath, so "demon" wasn't really a huge leap.

"You and Sam," she murmered, straightening her back, "you're both...were you...born like this? Or..."

Surprised that she was already eager for details, Dean stumbled a little.

"No, Sam's not...he's human, mostly, and of course I wasn't born like this. I was-"

He cut himself short, clearing his throat as he realized that the conversation had rapidly veered into dangerous waters.

There were good reasons why he stayed away from thoughts about...before...and he narrowed his eyes in the dim light, suddenly feeling very aggrivated.

"It doesn't matter," he finished, a dark edge now in his voice. "Enough chit-chat. Why haven't you eaten any breakfast? I thought I told you to eat."

He was gesturing toward the untouched plate of pancakes at the foot of Haley's bed, and his scowl deepened.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Haley mumbled quickly, looking abashed. "It's the painkillers. They make me feel sick. I just don't think that I could keep anything down right now."

Dean tasted rather than felt the anger that rose up in his throat at her words, wildly disproportionate to Haley's small misdemeanor, and before he could inject any logic into the situation, he found himself bending to slap Haley _hard _across her face.

She fell backward onto the mattress with a surprised cry, and Dean could see the angry red imprint of his hand blooming on her cheek.

"When will you learn that my orders are nonnegotiable, you stupid slut?" he growled, suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to make her as uncomfortable as possible, to put her in her place.

The small part of him that remained rational knew that, from Haley's perspective, this complete 180 shift was coming out of left field, but he didn't care.

_He'd let his guard down, and he had almost handed her the one card that she could have played against him. Fuck. He counted on his self-regulated blackout of his life pre-demon. Even Sam was punished severly if he tried to bring up anything from that past._

Haley, looking confused and devistated, tried to pull herself up, but Dean slammed a hand against her stomach in a silent command to stay down.

"So, the food I make for you isn't good enough," he hissed, blackness slithering over his eyes. "Is that it?"

Haley choked back a sob, her chest heaving.

"No!" she cried, her face twisting in alarm. "No, please, that's not what I-"

"Shut up, bitch," Dean interupted, grabbing her throat and yanking her into a sitting position. "Hands behind your back."

She hastily obeyed, not wanting to upset him even further, and Dean grabbed the cuffs from her bedside table, clamping them tightly around her wrists.

She gasped in pain as the metal dug into the not-yet-healed cuts from a few days ago, and Dean felt a rush of satisfaction flood his gut, tightening them another notch.

He gave her a little shove, and without her hands as support, she fell back ungracefully, her face contorted into an expression of of confused fear.

Straddling her hips, Dean grabbed the plate of food and dropped it down onto her bare stomach, syrup sliding off the ceramic edges and onto her skin.

Silently, he unzipped his pants, pulling out his cock and stroking it a few times until it was hard and heavy in his hand.

"When I tell you to eat, you will fucking eat," he spat, jacking himself more quickly now as Haley watched with wide eyes. "You don't get to say no to me."

She was nodding, desperately trying to show him that she understood, but Dean gave her another slap anyway, harder than the first and across the same cheek.

She couldn't prevent the tears that began to spill from her eyes as she tried to get enough air in a series of sharp little gasps, and, _god..._Dean felt his balls tighten as he watched her losing control underneath him.

His hand found her neck again, but this time, he squeezed viciously, his thumb pressing painfully into her larynx.

She writhed under his grip, her air supply suddenly completely cut off, but Dean only increased the pressure, his arms and legs shaking with arousal as he stroked himself closer and closer to climax.

Instinct began to take over, and she started trying to kick out with her legs, twisting her head violently as she struggled to free herself from his suffocating hold.

Dean was drunk on the power, flying high on the sensation of controlling even her most basic need, and he only released her when she started to still, likely a mere second or two from falling into unconsciousness.

As he watched her desperately suck in mouthfuls of air, his muscles tensed, and he moved to position himself so that his cock was directly above her plate.

With a deep growl of pleasure, his orgasm overtook him, and he groaned as spurt after spurt of hot cum flooded from him in a rush, covering the pancakes in a thick layer of white.

When the aftershocks had finally died down, he climbed off of her, removing the plate from her stomach and placing it back at the foot of the bed with a sated smirk.

Grabbing a handful of hair from the top of her head, he pulled her up, licking the burning skin on her cheek as he did.

She was still gasping, her breath shallow, and he stepped back, folding his arms across his chest.

"Eat your breakfast, Haley," he purred, nodding his head toward the cum-covered pancakes. "And you'd better keep it down."

He uncrossed his arms to fiddle with his watch for a minute before tapping it, his eyes still completely black.

"You have five minutes to finish every crumb on that plate, and maybe next time, you'll think twice before telling me that you're not hungry."

She made a little protesting noise, the sound raw as it scraped its way out of her bruised throat, and she shook her cuffed hands a little in confusion, looking up at him with wide eyes.

His smile was cold and unfeeling as he brushed a finger across her dry lips.

"Use your fucking mouth," he spat, shoving her head down so that she was face-first in the mess on the plate.

"Oh, and Haley?" he continued as she squirmed awkwardly, trying to adjust her angle.

"No more fucking questions."


	6. Chapter 6

****This is the backstory chapter, guys. Enjoy! Sorry about the paragraph format. I'm too lazy to fix it!****

"I want this exact design on their chests, right here," Dean said, pointing to the area directly under his collarbone. "The finished products should be roughly the size of the drawing, and every detail needs to be correct. Do you understand me? Every. Detail."

He eyed the woman sitting in front of him, his face stern and cold.

"If you make a mistake, one of them dies," he continued, nodding his head toward the four people tied up in the far corner. "And then you start again on the other side. You make another mistake, I kill them all."

He paused, letting that statement take effect before continuing.

"And, Miranda, if you mess up a third time...I have a man stationed outside your house. Yes, 14 Lockwood Ave., and he tells me that little Emily is playing happily in the living room with her father. They've already gotten your note telling them not to wait up. You have such a nice family. What a shame it would be if they had an unfortunate accident..."

The woman choked out a broken wail at Dean's words, covering her eyes with shaking hands.

"Yes, okay," she cried out, pulling herself to her feet. "I'll do it. I'll do whatever you want. J-just don't hurt them. Please."

Dean smiled, giving her a little nod.

"You have my word," he said, using his finger to lazily draw an "X" over his heart. "And I'm always a man of my word. Cross my heart and hope to...die."

He chuckled a little, and the woman shivered, gripping the table by her side to steady herself.

"And us...w-what happens to us?" she asked, gesturing toward the others in the corner who were gagged and under the watchful eye of Lance, another one of Dean's men who was truthfully quite stupid but who looked intimidating as all hell.

"If all goes as planned, you'll be free to leave," Dean said with another jovial smile, leaning back in his chair. "We'll all be long-gone by the time any of you get to the police. I'm not a complete monster, you know."

She looked doubtful and relieved at the same, and Dean glanced over his shoulder, signaling for the man by the door to come over.

"Bring Sam in first," he said quietly, watching Miranda in his peripheral vision. "Give him another shot before you do. I don't want to take any chances. I've seen my brother get hit with a horse tranquilizer and not go down. The man's a fucking moose, as dear old Crowley used to say."

The man nodded briskly, turning on his heels, and Dean switched his focus back to Miranda again.

"You'd better get your equipment ready," he snapped a little impatiently. "I don't want to be here for any longer than I have to, and I'm going to go out on a limb and say that you probably share my sentiments."

She stood frozen for a couple of long seconds before rushing across the room to gather what she would need, and Dean sighed, hoping that the night would go relatively smoothly. It had been an exhausting couple of days, and he was feeling on edge.

After one or two minutes had passed, he heard the grunts of the three men who were carrying Sam, and he watched as they dropped him ungracefully into the customer's chair.

"Careful, you fucking morons," Dean growled, jumping up to rearrange his brother so that his head lay straight on the blue leather. "How's Haley? Is she still out?"

One of the men nodded apologetically.

"Yes, Sir. A bomb could go off, and she still wouldn't wake up until the morning. I can guarantee you that."

Dean narrowed his eyes.

"You'd better hope you're right," he warned, turning away to face Miranda, who was gazing down at Sam in trepidation.

"You're up, Miranda," he said, taking a seat again. "You've got two of these to do, and six lives hang in the balance. No pressure. Well, actually, yes...a fucking lot of pressure. I'd get started if I were you."

As he heard the tattoo gun wine to life, he settled in more comfortably, his thoughts drifting a little to the events of the evening.

Five months ago, he had been hunting Sam for almost a year, moving around from place to place wherever he heard even the faintest whisper of his brother's whereabouts.

Crowley had been growing weary of the mission, saying that Dean was being childish and that even if he was somehow able to find Sam, the whole thing would cause more trouble than it was worth.

"You don't really think you can convince him that you're still his brother, do you?" he had scoffed one night after Dean had exhausted (and then disposed of) a failed lead in the form of a young motel manager in Eustis, Nebraska. "I mean, maybe in the beginning, but after everything you've done?"

Dean had glared angrily at Crowley over his shoulder.

"I AM still his brother," he had growled, giving the dead manager a frustrated kick in the stomach. "Why do you keep popping up everywhere I go, anyway? No one asked you to be a part of this."

Crowley had sighed dramatically, pressing a palm into his forehead.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," he had groaned, eyeing the pile of guts on the floor distastefully. "I _am_still the King, you know, and _you're_ still my creation, of sorts. When I woke you up with the blade, it wasn't just for a giggle. Now, I've given you a year to frolic around the country leaving a trail of bodies in your wake, but my patience is wearing thin."

Dean had laughed out loud at that.

"First of all, I'm not _your_ anything, old man," he had said with a withering smirk. "Second of all, you haven't _given_ me a thing. You can't order me around, because I'm better than you. Stronger. And that just kills you, doesn't it? So, you follow me around like a stray puppy hoping that I'll find it in my heart to do your damn dirty work, or, at the very least, so that you can keep an eye on me in case I get a little too power-hungry. Isn't that right? Let's not kid ourselves, here."

But Crowley had just smiled that irritating smile, patting him on the back like a parent would a child.

"You may have the strength, Dean, but that's about _all _you've got," he had replied in a frustratingly calm voice. "I've got the experience, and I've got the numbers, and I follow you to make sure that you don't end up the Frankenstein monster being torched by the frightened villagers. You're not exactly subtle, you know."

"They're all scared of me," Dean had retorted, his eyes going dark. "Your demons, they're scared of me...more than they are of you. They do whatever I tell them to. Did you know that? They come when I call. They quack when I say quack. They don't question me. And they certainly don't ask _you _for permission."

It was the first of many times that Dean would throw that in Crowley's face, and, frankly, he had always been surprised to reach the end of each day without being cornered by a mob of the king's hit-men out for his head.

It might have even been insulting if he had actually cared.

"You're acting like a child on a power trip," Crowley had said, shaking his head at Dean. "All you think about is finding Sam, but what next? What if you do? Are you going to cut off his hands and feet, nail his mouth shut, keep him in a cage, and feed him through a tube? Are you ever going to stop and think this through, or are you just going to keep intimidating my subjects into helping you on this hair-brained, idiotic quest? You're a demon now, Dean, just like the best of us. You've got power. No one's disputing that. Why waste it on this? He's not your family anymore. You don't love him, because if you were capable of love, you would leave him alone. You just _want _him, but you can't. You can't have him."

Dean had wanted to rip Crowley apart for saying it, because it wasn't true. Not completely. But he had simply stormed out the door, jumping into his car and leaving Nebraska in his rear-view with no clear destination and a lot on his mind.

There was something that Crowley didn't know...something that Dean hadn't told him...something big...something that he had come across in a very old, very rare book of demonic rituals that he had acquired several months back.

And it was a game changer.

There was only one copy of the book in existence, and once Dean had caught wind of it (and what it contained), he had tracked it down in two weeks flat.

Powers of persuasion really did come in handy...

Just as he had hoped, in the very back of the book there had been a chapter devoted to binding spells and rituals...dark, terrifying, messy stuff that could go horribly wrong for everyone involved, but he had figured that if he was ever going to be able to keep Sam where he wanted him (once he had found him, of course), he was going to need to do something risky.

Crowley had assumed that he hadn't thought things through.

Well, he had.

He wasn't deluded enough to think that Sam would jump on the demon-brother bandwagon willingly. Of course he wouldn't, not without a little extra "persuasion."

The tattoo he had come across in the book (given to a human by a demon) was relatively simple in theory...some complex (but doable) symbols, an incantation, some blood and herbs, and poof! Instant, powerful, irreversible control from any distance.

It was the fine print that caused the snag.

Dean hadn't been surprised to read that the Master's lifeline would be tied to the fate of the subject (if the pet dies, so does the owner), but he _had_ been surprised to find out that there was another price...a rather larger price than he had anticipated.

The wearer of the tattoo would be infected.

It would be subtle for a while, but the infection would start to grow.

There was no exact timeline given for the process (it was different for everyone), but, eventually, the subject's soul would be completely transformed.

Sam would become a demon, just like him.

A demon under his control, but still...a demon.

It had been the only thing to make Dean actually falter.

He had _faltered._

And then, he had holed himself up in a crummy motel room for a week, scared to even look in a mirror.

Sam still meant something to him. It wasn't just a need to possess. Well, it _was, _but there was something else, too. He wanted his brother. He wanted Sammy, so fuck Crowley for assuming that he couldn't still love. Maybe not like before, but...there was still _something._

When he had finally decided to pull himself together and pick up the hunt again (Crowley's lurking presence had been a motivating factor), he had filed the ritual away in the back of his mind to let it simmer.

He would look for another way. He would. And if he couldn't find one, well...he might not have a choice.

But, he had faltered.

A few short days later, he had picked up an interesting snippet of information on the demon-radio that had spurred him the rest of the way into action.

Sam Winchester (or so the demon had sworn it was), was in Colorado, doing who-knows-what in a small town called Durango. The demon had recognized him a few towns away and had followed him west, watching him from a distance as he had pulled into a woman's driveway just off the main drag and entered her house, not yet to re-emerge.

Feeling a rush of excitement, Dean had driven all day and all night, only to arrive exhausted in Durange to some disheartening news.

The demon, Hal, he was called, had let Sam disappear right from under his nose.

"I was watching! I swear I was watching," he had howled as Dean had advanced on him. "I don't know how he could have...how they both...the damn house is empty! I don't know how...I would have seen..."

His last words had been cut short as Dean had plunged the blade into his heart.

For two days, he had prowled the little town, calling in the cavalries (much to Crowley's displeasure) to search 100 miles in every direction and killing four residents in the process of trying to find someone,_ anyone_, who might have seen his brother, but Sam was good. He was damn good.

And, like a fucking ghost, he had managed to once again slip right through Dean's fingers.

On night three, when he had resigned himself to starting from scratch, Dean had decided to walk into town for a few drinks and a good fuck.

He had wanted to kill, too. His blood had been boiling with it, but he had wanted to seduce, first. To charm, to own, to desecrate, and then to destroy.

It was a game he liked to play when he was feeling...helpless. A game to reclaim control. It was the only thing that was going to bring him some kind of relief.

He had planned to take the long hike from the cabin he was squatting in to a pub on Main Street, always one of the few places to find people in a sparsely-populated town like this after eight, but something unexpected had happened as he had emerged from the woods onto the usually-deserted parking lot behind the Durange local history museum.

The place closed at six, not that it mattered, since Dean hadn't seen a single visitor during his three days in town, but, there she had been...a young girl (maybe in her mid-twenties) with long golden hair, tapping her foot in frustration and checking her watch.

She had been wearing a yellow sundress that almost seemed to glow in the dim light, and Dean had been struck with the idea that she looked like the sun...like life...like a river of something clean and shining that he wanted to drink, to consume...more than he had wanted anything in quite some time.

As he had settled into the shadows to watch her, he had thought to himself that if he could have this girl, if he could...own...whatever was inside of her that made her bright, he might be okay for a little while.

He might not need his brother so damn badly.

He had known that he would, of course, have to kill her, but if he could have her, just for a night, just for a few hours even, then maybe...maybe...he would feel strong again.

He hadn't killed Crowley that night (after he had tried to slit Haley's throat), but a few nights later, when Crowley had shown up outside his hotel room with a small army of demons to assist in the "intervention," Dean hadn't even hesitated before slaughtering all but one (Crowley's name included on the list of the deceased).

He had someone, now, someone who made him feel powerful, and not in the way that the demons did when they cowered in front of him. No, Haley was...pure, and he had her. She belonged to him.

He wasn't alone.

Nothing, not even Crowley, was going to threaten to take her away from him and live to tell the tale.

Except for one, because...well...he had needed someone to tell the tale.

"You go," he had growled at the frightened girl whose life he had spared. "You go, and you tell the others that it would be unwise for any of them to cross me. You tell them what you saw here tonight."

She had skittered away with her tail between her legs, and Dean had spent about fifteen seconds panicking about the fact that he had murdered the king of hell before realizing that, if he had won against Crowley and fifteen of his top dogs (without so much as breaking a sweat), there wasn't much that the rest of them could do in retribution.

Haley, however, who had witnessed the entire thing, was so traumatized that she had tried to bolt immediately after the demon had left while Dean was hurriedly packing their things. As she had kicked and flailed with adrenaline-powered strength, Dean had had to tackle her violently to the ground, breaking her wrist in the process.

For the next thirty or forty days, she had been in a nearly-constant state of panic, trying to escape at every opportunity, and Dean had had to keep her restrained almost 24/7, determined to train the rebellion out of her at any cost.

She was there to be his distraction, and she would need to learn to behave like the good little slut he needed her to be.

Sex with Haley had become his obsession, his new addiction, his weapon, and, hell...there was nothing he loved more than wielding it. The sense of control was like nothing he had ever experienced, and she was the sweetest nectar, poisoning and sating him all at once.

With her, he finally had a purpose that he could see and touch, something tangible that he could _own. _Something light and good that he could drain...that he could feed off of.

He didn't even feel like he needed to kill.

Breaking her down had been challenging but immensely satisfying, and Dean had taken great pleasure in brutally fucking her throat when she talked back, her ass when she didn't follow an order, and her cunt whenever the hell he felt like it (and then some).

Holding a vibrator against her while he used her, he had forced her to physically respond again and again, dragging orgasms from her twisting body while she sobbed in shame and humiliation.

Sometimes, he had even spread her wide with clothespins and tied the toy to her so tightly that it dug right into her exposed clit for hours just so that he could watch her unravel to the point where she would scream and beg him for mercy.

And when she had really misbehaved, he had suspended her upsidown from the ceiling of their cabin in Wyoming and had shoved three lit candles into her cunt where he had watched them melt down to nearly nothing, the burning wax coating her and drizzling down her stomach and chest while she had cried herself unconscious.

These were only a few examples of what he had put her through, so...yes. The process had been challenging. But satisfying.

So very, very satisfying.

After two and a half months of this kind of daily abuse, she had become pliant (for the most part), and then one evening, as Dean had been cuffing her for the night, he had been struck with a rather alarming thought.

Nearly four months had gone by since their first fateful meeting in Durango.

Four months.

Four months in seclusion in fucking Wyoming with his dick in Haley.

Four. Fucking. Months.

_He had forgotten about his brother._

That _had _been the goal, but the thought of _SamSammySam _had taken root in Dean's brain again, digging deep and burrowing into its very center, and he knew what he had to do.

The next morning, he had gagged Haley and thrown her into the trunk of his car (as he always did when they needed to stock up on food or supplies) and headed into town.

But, this time, he had only needed one thing, something he had succeeded in getting almost immediately (as was the way it usually went).

The girl had barely even made a sound as he had lowered his knife to her throat about a mile up the road, and as the blood had pooled in the clay bowl he had grabbed from the cabin, he had realized that he was about to broadcast over demon-radio for the first time since he had killed Crowley and his gang of puppets.

_"I won't mention it if they won't,"_ he had thought as the blood began to churn, but as soon as the words "Dean Winchester" had left his lips, there had been a great eruption of chatter and excitement from the other end, four or five voices speaking too quickly all at once, and Dean had been stunned into silence for a moment before continuing.

"If this is about Crowley, we can gossip about it later while we braid each other's hair," he had hissed in annoyance, his patience already wearing thin. "I need to know if there's been any news...anything...about my brother. If you don't feel like telling me, fine. I'll get the information anyway, even if it means dragging it painfully from someone's insides. This way is probably easier for everyone. So put me through to someone coherent and in charge. I don't have long."

After another few moments of chaos, a voice had finally came in clear.

"Dean? Is it really you? Are you really back?"

Dean had wrinkled his nose in confusion.

"Do I know you?"

"Well, not technically, but I know you, or...I know of you. We all do. We've been waiting for you to come back to us. We've been searching, but you've been off the grid. We all-"

"You've been...why?" Dean had interrupted, his confusion growing exponentially. "If this is about holding me accountable for...everything, I really don't have time for that, nor will I ever. I did what I had to do, and if anyone wants to take it up with me in person, I'd be happy to kill them."

"No...you...my king...you've misunderstood me."

"I'm on a damn public road at noon, so if we could just-"

_Wait...what?_

Dean's jaw had suddenly dropped.

_King? _

_KING?_

He had sputtered wordlessly for a moment, trying to wrap his head around this unforeseen turn of events.

_King? What, because he had killed Crowley? That wasn't the way things worked. He hadn't even been around. He'd..._

"I don't understand. I-"

But at that moment, he'd had to cut the call short as he had eyed a family of bikers in his mirror heading up the hill toward his car.

"I have to go," he had said hastily, chucking the bowl unceremoniously out the window and stepping on the gas.

The last thing he had needed was for Mr. and Mrs. All-American to spot the bloody, dead corpse in his passenger seat.

He had enough problems to deal with at the moment.

A few days later, he would find out the truth about the series of events that had transpired since Crowley's death, the events that had placed him unknowingly on Hell's throne, a position he wouldn't have cared for in the slightest if it hadn't meant finally having the upper hand.

Finally having the resources he needed at his disposal. Finally being able to set up a constant, 24-hour watch around the country, a web of incoming information in which he was the spider and the center of it all.

He could finally find Sam.

The irony of it all was that, in the end, Sam had come to him.

When Dean thought back on it, he realized that he shouldn't have even been surprised.

Sam had never been able to stay away...not forever.

Dean could have saved himself a lot of grief if he had been able to have faith in his brother's predictability, if he had been able to sit back and wait it out...for as long as it took.

But, then again, waiting had never been in Dean's repertoire.

His brother had materialized outside Dean's motel room door in Chicago about a month after he and Haley had left Wyoming, and Dean hadn't even needed to ask how he had managed to locate them and then wade through the hord of guards stationed out front.

This was Sam, after all.

His brother had been armed to the teeth and ranting about some kind of a "cure" that he had been chasing down for a year, but when Dean had moved in to shoot him down with a burst of power, Sam had barely even resisted.

When Dean had questioned him about it weeks later, Sam had shaken his head wearily and simply said, "I was tired, Dean. I was just...so tired."

That night, as he had held Sam's limp body in his arms while Haley slept behind the door, Dean had come to an immediate decision, and it wasn't even the struggle that he had imagined it would be.

He wasn't going to lose Sam again.

He couldn't.

He wouldn't have been able to bear it.

And there was no other way.

With Sam under his charge, he wouldn't be able to be Haley's constant warden, and, while she had gotten better, she was nowhere near the point where Dean would have been able to trust her alone or even under the watch of other demons.

He had always assumed that he would kill her when he had Sam.

He could find girls to fuck whenever he wanted it.

He didn't need her. Not anymore.

He certainly wasn't ever going to house the two of them together, and she was disposable...a project to keep him buoyant...wasn't she?

But the truth was that she had become more than that to him, and he hadn't fully realized it until he had dragged Sam into the room, layed him down on the floor, and gazed back and forth between the two of them.

He hadn't been able to choose.

And...damn it...he was the fucking king.

Why should he have to?

Picking up the phone, he had dialed the cell of one of his guards.

"Marcus?" he had whispered, not wanting to wake Haley. "Yeah, it's Dean. Listen, I need you to find me the best tattoo artist in the city. And then I need you to scrounge up some tranquilizers...the kind you don't mess around with...and bring them to me here in the room. Understood?"

Despite the strangeness of the requests, Marcus had agreed without hesitation.

When the order came from Dean Winchester, you did it, and you did it fast. Every demon with a lick of self-preservation knew that.

As he waited, Dean watched his two captives, his stomach fluttering nervously.

_He was going to do it. He was really going to do it._

_Everything was about to change._

It was nearly dawn, now, and Miranda had just finished the last dark loop on Haley's chest.

She was good.

She was better than good, and Dean made a little promise to himself that he would reward Marcus for finding him someone who really had been up to the job.

Every complex symbol had been done with exquisite perfection, not a single mistake made even after seven straight hours of work.

He was very pleased.

"Take her out to the van," he said to one of the men standing next to him. "And call Eric. I want to make sure that he and the others are ready for Sam."

The man nodded, slinging Haley's limp body over his shoulder and heading for the back door.

Miranda had backed up against the wall silently and was staring at Dean with wide eyes.

He winked at her in what he hoped was an encouraging kind of way, and she seemed to relax a bit.

Standing up, he stretched luxuriously, checking his watch. Nearly five in the morning. Fuck.

"And your promise?" Miranda suddenly blurted out, her hands gripped tightly into fists at her sides. "We go free?"

"Oh, right," Dean replied casually, giving her a charming smile. "You did an excellent job, Miranda. You really did. I couldn't be happier with the finished products."

Her eyes softened, and she took a small step away from the wall, giving the other hostages a reassuring glance.

"Lance, Eamon," Dean said, gesturing them over, "kill them all."

Miranda stood frozen for a fraction of a moment as if unable to comprehend what she had just heard.

"NO!" she finally screamed, her face contorting in terror. "NO! NO! I did EVERYTHING you asked me to do! NO! You said you were a man of your word. You said-"

"Sweetheart," Dean interrupted, chuckling darkly. "There's something I may have forgotten to mention."

His eyes blackened, and he crossed the distance between them in three quick strides, grabbing her by the throat and tossing her across the room like a rag doll.

She slammed into one of the tables with a sickening crunch, and Dean laughed, flexing his fingers.

"I'm not a man," he growled, reaching for his coat as Lance and Eamon descended on her. "I'm a demon. And demons lie."


	7. Chapter 7 (part 1)

-This is part one of three parts that will make up chapter seven-

*****Warnings: EXTREMELY VIOLENT AND CRUEL CHOKING SCENE, insensitivity to murder, big-time nonconsent (in every chapter), forced D/s dynamic, blood and bruises, death threats…you get the picture. If you've made it this far, you are not faint-hearted, so I'm sure you'll be fine.*****

It was a crisp, fall morning, and the late-September breeze held promises of colder, longer days ahead. Haley and Dean sat almost casually on the back porch of the cabin, Haley nibbling absentmindedly on a piece of toast and Dean flipping lazily through a newspaper with his bare feet resting on the small glass table.

To the untrained eye, they could have easily passed as a happy couple vacationing in the mountains.

Haley was naked, of course, but there were no cuffs or chains binding her, and Dean looked every bit like the adoring husband or boyfriend, glancing over the top of his paper every few moments to smile and cock his head at the blonde woman across from him.

To the trained eye, however, there was something much more sinister going on behind the pretty picture.

Haley's posture was rigid, and her free hand was clenched into a tight fist by her side. The way she was eating was mechanical, one bite every thirty to forty seconds as if on cue, and the skin under her eyes held the dark purple hue of someone who hadn't slept well in weeks.

Dean's gaze was steady, yes, but far from doting, and his eyes glinted with an unspoken, steely threat, binding Haley with invisible ropes that she could feel as tangibly as if they were physically there, holding her in place.

"Why so serious this morning, hmm?" Dean almost-cooed, the corner of his lip twitching in amusement, and Haley immediately looked up with a forced smile plastered across her face. It was a grimace more than anything, but Dean returned it with a smile of his own and a wink as he flipped to the obituaries.

"Dorian Thibodaux's life was tragically cut short on Saturday morning in a homicide that occurred just a few blocks from her home," he read aloud, pausing dramatically to take a sip of his coffee. "Her brother, Dale Thibodaux, who was working in Butte, Montana at the time of his sister's death, is not the only one who is mourning the loss of a woman who dedicated her life to her family as well as to her local charitable foundation, "Gentle Hearts," which has been a blessing to abandoned pets and to the families who have adopted them for over ten years. Dale will be holding a candlelight vigil in Dorian's honor at 7:30 PM this Sunday in front of the Gentle Heart office on Beechwood Avenue. All are welcome."

Dean chuckled to himself.

"Should we go?" he mused, watching as Haley's expression twisted in poorly-concealed horror. "Dale said that everyone is welcome! I may have killed poor Dorian, but I enjoy a good candlelight vigil as much as the next person. Hey! Maybe we could even bring home a straggly little puppy from Gentle Hearts. What do you say?"

He was bating Haley's emotions, half out of boredom and half out of a desire to push her into an outburst and then punish her for being disrespectful, but she remained silent, her mouth pursed into a tight, thin line as she stared resolutely down at her plate.

Dean was a little disappointed and a little impressed.

Truth be told, he _hadn't _killed Dorian Thibodaux. He'd killed a handful of others, certainly, but they had mostly been solitary out-of-towners or hermit-types. He didn't want to have to deal with heavy police investigations aimed his way when he had enough on his plate as it was.

Still, toying with Haley's mental breaking point had become a habit that he was finding increasingly-difficult not to indulge, despite the fact that it was probably counterproductive to his end goals where she was concerned.

But, seeing the color drain from her face and her eyes glass-over in fear and disbelief was just so…heady.

Sighing, he pulled his focus back to the real task at hand, deciding that she'd get a freebie for the moment, simply because of the time-sensitive plans he had for the two of them as soon as breakfast was finished. He needed her malleable, or it was going to be a _long _day.

"Oh, for God's sake," he said, rolling his eyes skyward. "I didn't kill little miss love-and-hugs-and-baby-animal-kisses." He paused briefly, half-heartedly trying to end his comments on the matter while they were still mostly respectable (by his standards, anyway). "She probably had it coming, though. It's always the ones who look like fucking living-saints on paper. She probably operated an underage porn business out of the basement of that 'charitable foundation' of hers. It was either that or drugs. It'll all come out in the wash. But, ringing her bell was someone else's happy moment…unfortunately. "

_Hey. At least he had said it wasn't him. Saying it nicely would have been asking way too much of himself._

Haley shifted her weight nervously and mumbled something inaudible.

"What was that, sweetheart?" Dean purred, slowly sliding his foot up her calf underneath the table.

She cleared her throat and looked up, her eyes slitted in obvious disapproval.

"I knew that you didn't kill her," she said boldly, and Dean cocked an eyebrow in surprise.

"Oh, really?" he said, crossing his arms and staring her down. "And how did you know that?"

"D-doesn't matter," she stuttered, her voice quiet again. "You're still a murderer. What difference does it make who you kill? A murderer is a murderer, plain and simple."

_There it was. The little act of defiance he had been baiting her for. It was too hard to resist._

In a flash, Dean was up from his chair and in her personal space, both of his hands wrapped around her neck and his mouth curled into a sneer.

Her eyes bulged in shock, and Dean leaned in even closer, pressing his lips to her ear as he tightened his grip.

"Still think it doesn't matter who I kill, my pet?" he hissed, digging his thumbs into her throat and effectively cutting off her air as she thrashed against the weight of his body, clawing at his arms in a completely futile attempt to loosen his hold.

"Hmm? I can't hear you," he continued, snaking out his tongue to lick a stripe down her jaw. "C'mon, Haley. You know I don't like it when you ignore me."

He was flush with the thrill of the moment, his heart racing and his jeans suddenly uncomfortably tight as he watched her struggle in his grasp.

The more violently she struggled, the harder he squeezed, and the groan that escaped him was pure instinct, pure predator.

He wanted to be the God who stole her light, who consumed her…before he ravished her completely.

"Cat got your tongue? Is something wrong, baby?"

His voice was a low growl, devoid of anything even remotely human.

"Use your words, now. What? Out of arguments, already? Aw, look at that! You're turning blue, sweetheart. If only you could see it. So pretty. So pretty for me. Do you feel that darkness closing in?"

He could see the panic in her eyes, but he only pressed in harder, his cruelty rushing through his fingertips like a floodgate, taking on a mind of its own.

"You're dying, baby, and do you know where you're going?" He hissed, shoving a knee brutally between her thighs. "Can you guess? I'll give you a hint. There are no pearly white gates. No chorus of angels waiting for you in the fire. That's right, love. You've got a one-way ticket to Hell. With me. Forever. Tsk, tsk, Haley."

_Okay, so he was maybe going a little overboard. Some distant part of his mind was alerting him to this fact, but…why the fuck not? Haley was his toy to play with, and he wouldn't ACTUALLY break her. He was just blowing off a little steam._

Right then, she went still beneath him, and he quickly released her, giving her cheek a solid slap to ensure that she would gasp in a mouthful of air, restoring her to full-consciousness level, where he needed her to be.

As she sucked in shaky lungfuls of oxygen, slouched deeply in her chair and making noises that seemed to be a mix of crying and choking, Dean casually reached for his mug of coffee, taking a long, gratifying sip while he eyed her.

"I think I made my point," he finally said once she had quieted a little, reaching down to move her right hand to the table where he wrapped her fingers around the glass of water in front of her. "Drink," he ordered, smiling a little as she immediately obeyed. "Today's going to be a big day for you, once you pull yourself together. I'm taking you out. We're going to visit my brother, and you'll be on your own feet, by my side. IF you can show me that you're going to be a good girl and do as I say. Do you think you can do that, baby?"

Haley didn't respond, still visibly wracked by what had just occurred, and Dean shrugged, turning as if to grab her shoulders.

"The trunk it is, then," he said calmly, and Haley looked up with wide eyes, shaking her head violently.

"N-no, I…I can listen," she rasped, her voice raw and barely above a whisper. "Let me show you. I'll be good, okay? P-please. I promise I'll be good. Please. P-please."

Her face was crumpled up in what looked like pain, desperation, blind-panic, and total helplessness all rolled into one, and she couldn't seem to control the little cry-breaths that were still escaping her throat, punctuating her words with shaky gasps.

Dean leaned in ever-so-slightly to check her pupils, and she recoiled violently, flinging an arm across her face defensively and choking back a sob.

Dean was suddenly…thrown off by the entire thing.

Out of nowhere, he was assaulted by some kind of a protective rush of warmth deep in his gut, and he found himself automatically reaching out to run his fingers through her hair in an attempt to comfort her.

_To…comfort her?_

His hand froze, aborting the gesture almost as soon as it had begun, and he cleared his throat, nearly leaping a few steps back.

_Get ahold of yourself, man. Keep it together._

"First, we're going to ice that neck a bit," he suddenly said without thinking, eyeing the hand-shaped bruises that were now blossoming in deeper hues of purple than he had ever really intended. There were even places where his fingernails had cut into the skin, and the smears of red across the purple seemed to stand out much more to him than they should have.

There was that odd rush again.

And this time, with it came an inexplicable and illogical flood of anger that someone had made Haley look like that, that someone had ruined her pretty neck, had turned it into something grotesque, that someone had…that…_he…_had…made her feel like she wasn't precious to him, like he didn't love-

_Wait…_

_What?_

Dean shook himself vehemently out of his reverie, clenching his hands into fists and trying to regain his focus.

A sideways glance in Haley's direction told him that she was still too shaken up to have noticed his…odd behavior.

_Where was this coming from?_

_The girl was FINE. She was GOING to be fine._

_So why did he suddenly feel like he…hated himself?_

_No, he hated Haley. At least in that moment. She was manipulating him, the little bitch. He'd show her…_

For the first time in months, Crowley's voice echoed through his mind as he recalled an incident from his early-demonhood that he had all but forgotten until that very moment.

It had been about three weeks since his human life had ended, and the two of them had been holed up in a dingy motel room for a few days while Crowley had relapsed into a massive human blood binge. He had tried to hide it from Dean, but in his inebriated state, he had left the bathroom door open, and Dean had walked in on him, empty syringe in hand and tears streaking his cheeks.

"To be a demon is a nightmare that never ends," Crowley had murmured philosophically, bracing himself against the wall, "but to be only partially a demon is so much, _much _worse."

Dean had rolled his eyes in annoyance, grabbing the older man's arm and trying to pull him back out into the bedroom, but Crowley had resisted, stubbornly rooting himself to the floor.

"Stop it, stop it, just-…Dean, will you just bloody listen to me for a minute?" Crowley had barked, yanking his arm free and pressing his palm to his forehead. "When you're a demon, like we are, or a monster, I presume, everything just…is. Maybe it's horrible, cold, sure…but it's also logical. Uncomplicated. Something that might seem like it matters enormously, can…matter enormously, but at the same time, you're removed from it. You can do…things, and it's okay. It's fine. You might lose every once in a while, but you can never really…_lose. _If something comes along and makes you _feel_, actually _feel, _that removal goes away, and you start to really understand the damage that you've done. It's hard to come back from that, Dean. The whole thing grabs hold of you, and it's just…god, it's enough to drive you completely insane. You don't know-"

"Crowley, you're lecturing me about being human again," Dean had interrupted through clenched teeth. "Of the two of us, I'm pretty sure that _I'm _the expert in that area. New demon, remember? Besides, do you still not get the fact that _humans _deal with what you're feeling right now every damn day of their lives? And do you know how we deal with it? We fucking _suck it up._ And you can, too."

But that hadn't been what Crowley was trying to say at all…

Either way, Dean had been thoroughly unmoved by Crowley's sudden, cathartic outburst, and after wrestling the mighty king of Hell into bed to sleep it off and then flushing the remaining blood down the toilet, he had settled in with a bottle of whiskey to watch _Daddy Issues: Stripper Edition _on pay-per-view.

"Feelings" could not have been further from his mind, and by the time morning had rolled around, both Dean and Crowley had been happy to pretend that the events of the previous night had not taken place.

That was the last time that Crowley had injected himself, as far as Dean knew…

Now, however, he was uncomfortably aware of the fact that this particular memory had been regurgitated from his subconscious for a reason, and whatever it was, it wasn't good.

It was making him feel sick in a way that every disease on earth, simultaneously, couldn't replicate, and he wanted to slice himself open, kill the earth, and make Haley pay for being so fucking weak…not necessarily in that order.

"So, yes," he suddenly spoke, realizing with a jolt that his prolonged silence was no longer being lost on Haley, who was staring up at him in utter confusion. "So, yes, we'll…_no. _No.We won't," he continued unevenly, his voice turning to a growl for the last few words. "Forget the ice, Haley. We've already wasted enough time on your insolence, and if you think you can play the helpless, wounded girl act on me whenever you're being punished, think again, my pet. There are consequences to provoking me, and the sooner you _really _learn that, the better."

She _was_ a helpless, wounded girl, and _he_ had provoked _her_, but Dean wasn't going to worry too much about those specifics. Not for the moment, anyway.

Blinking in his black eyes for good measure, he could already feel himself slipping back into the cold, hungry, animalistic, _simple _state of mind he had become familiar with, and he allowed his muscles to relax a bit, reassuring himself that he would get more sleep, satiate the Mark on a more regular basis, set up some very specific ground rules for Haley, and see Sammy. Soon, he would be with Sammy. "On your back, down there," he commanded, meeting Haley's gaze and gesturing to the ground at his feet. "You have three seconds or those bruises are going to feel like heaven compared to what I'll do to you, baby. Three…two…one…"

Haley fell unceremoniously to the ground, and Dean smiled wickedly, cracking his knuckles loudly in the stillness.

"Good girl," he purred, circling her like a lion moving in on its prey. "Now, are you ready to play a little game?"


End file.
